Dreams are strange, and sometimes deadly, bed fellows. Sunday night I met my stalker in the tunnel and felt his clammy fingers reach for a button on my blouse. When I resisted, his hands moved to my neck and began to tighten as I twisted my head back and forth and tried to position an elbow for a stab at his Adam’s apple. But, before I could pull my left arm into position, he used a leg to trip me and I fell to the brick floor gasping for air.
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